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There is not a single cynical thought to deny the fact that she may be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on. She’s intimidatingly peaceful—a contradiction in itself. And I almost want to despise her for it. Because I fear there is a chance that I may begin to enjoy her.
I happen to look up in time, witnessing the beautiful accident that has happened. I’ve made him smile.
She is an intoxicating sort of exhausting, like running until you’ve lost your breath but enjoying the feeling all the while. And I feel as though I’ve been sprinting for days. Even worse, I fear that I am, in fact, beginning to enjoy her.
regret not buying that blue shirt from you, if only so I had your attention long enough to convince you that red suits you better. I regret not telling you how much I like it when you blow those bangs out of your eyes, or the way you clap after finishing a row of stitches. I regret smothering every smile you made me want to give you. And I regret not telling you the truth. But most of all, not saying goodbye.”
It’s the last piece of me left.
I’m counting the stars until I see Mak shining beside me.
Her sewing fingers. They have broken her sewing fingers.